


Conditioning

by LumaBoop



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Multi, candle torture, dub-con, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 18:16:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LumaBoop/pseuds/LumaBoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They say there's a caravan of pale-skinned men dragging a prisoner not too far from here. Can't say who it was, but he was in bad shape. Damned Templars..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conditioning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dayf](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Dayf).



> This was written in 2010 in response to some lovely fanart by [Dayf](http://www.y-gallery.net/user/dayf/)
> 
>  
> 
> So this repost goes out to them!

“Ahahaha, move those legs, boy!”

“Keep it going, lad!”

“Almost there.”

Their taunts left Altair’s ears haggard from the ten mile torture. After being kidnapped during a sneaking mission that ended in failure, his wrists were bound tightly and he was forced to walk alongside a band of four Templar. The gang seemed detached from the rest of the Knights Templar, similar to a pack of exiled dogs.

Nearing their hide out on the outskirts of Masyaf’s village, the Templar dismounted their steeds— all but one. “Eh? What’s this? Get up, ya lil' sand rodent.” He cursed, pulling at the taunt string attached to his horse and Alistair's body, which was currently collapsed upon the cool ground, his legs no longer able to bear his weight. Without food, water, or rest since being abducted from the grounds of Arce, the young man’s body was finally able to rest now, even if it was face down in dirt.

The rest was short lived as the other three Templar joined their cursing comrade.

“What’s goes on, Hector?”

“Little needle-wielder’s legs finally given out.”

“He picked a lousy place to sleep. But I suppose he sleeps on grounds like this often.”

“Wouldn’t put it past the little buggers.” Chuckled the horse-mounted Templar, yanking on the novice’s reins violently to coax him up. “Get up! You’ll have plenty of time to lay out where you’re goin’.” A few more forceful tugs brought no life to Altair’s limp body.

Kicking the man’s sides to make sure he wasn’t dead, the dismounted Templar gave a go-head. “Hhn, alrighty.” He snorted, a promptly dragged Altair the rest of the way to their hideout, which was nothing more than an old barn. By the end of the drawn-and-quarter, Altair’s face was tattered with scratches and bruises from the unforgiving terrain.

The one doved Hector jumped from his horse and snatched Altair’s rein. His robes were more tattered and more blood-stained than the others—it was the only distinctiveness from the other three Templar, for they all worn iron masks. They followed Hector and Altair into the old barn, kicking at the staggering assassin to hurry up into the darkness.

“Don’t just stand there and gawk, ya bastards,” echoed the bellowing call of Hector. “Get some light in ‘ere.”

Lost within the inky darkness to which he wasn’t trained to see through yet, Altair flinched, startled when several candles illuminated the daft barn. Each Templar held a candle, moving closer to the winded young man. Backing away, Hector held the rein tight, preventing escape or struggle.

“No…” Altair unconsciously closed his legs, feeling vulnerable in the worst way now. His raddled head was starting to click and work—these men weren’t done with him yet.

“Start with his legs.” Hector snorted cruelly, and the three followed accordingly, resting the candles behind them before attacking their captive’s torso, pulling him down upon the hay-speckled ground. Hector stood behind the struggling assassin, pulling on his wrists reins.

“Come on, get those pants off! Can’t git ya without his precious blade.” Hector taunted, Altair gritting his teeth in helpless anger as he felt his under robes pulled and ripped from his body.

The men chuckled and whistled at Altair’s exposure, admiring their handy work of bruising and cuts sustained from the ten mile march. The man’s skin was also much paler than they thought it would be.

“Think we got a mutt.”

“A little breeding folly.”

“Ya don’t say?” Hector chuckled, Altair casting his gaze away from the foreboding helmets. “In’trestin’. Wonder what right-minded Christian woman would be desperate enough to lay with one of these barbarians?”

Despite his nonchalant attitude towards his ‘parents’, the comment caused Altair to thrash his arms violently against the wrists bindings. It was to no avail and earned him a sharp kick to the face by Hector. The move also pushed back his cowl completely, revealing his battered face, the color of his skin and hair, and the depths of hatred in his eyes. The men mocked Altair’s sneer with hand gestures and cackles.

“Fair play; the little shrew has bite left in ‘em yet.”

“Let ‘em glare for all I care. Let’s see if we can get ‘em to groan.”

“Don’t hold back, men. He said to break ‘em in. So break ‘em.”

The sounds of clothes ruffling, arguing amongst the men, and panting echoed through the lofty barn. Altair’s eyes struggled to keep track of their actions save for Hector, who stood powerfully behind him like a master over a slave.

“Get up off it! I’m first, damn it,” barked the victor of the arguing.

Altair struggled as the half naked Templar grasped his tender legs, pain shooting through his spine as bruises were carelessly irritated. “You’re gonna feel so bloody good.” He snickered, his posed cock more threatening than any sharpened steal.

Despite Altair’s attempts to break free from the over-posing Templar, nothing could stop the spit-slickened cock from pushing and shoving against his tightly clinched pucker. It was Altair’s last line of defense.

“Tch. Little fucker’s tighter than a clam.”

“Hehe, dun worry, I’ll loosen him up real quick.”

Altair watched as one of the candles moved closer to his body, a hand forcing his loosened robes away from his chest. Hector pulled on his wrists as he jerked away from the touches, still trying to concentrate on clutching himself as tightly as possible. He couldn’t—he wouldn’t allow them to—

“Aaaaaaah!”

A drop of molten hot wax dripped over Altair’s left nipple. In that instance, the novice went lax and the perpetrator forced his head inside, chuckling with glee. “Ooohhh yes, Taylor… good idea.” He quivered, moaning as his head settled in the overwhelming warmth.

Withering in pain, Altair’s tried to push out the intrusion, yet failed miserably. His teeth snapped over his bottom lip, piercing over his scar, his violation completed upon feeling the man’s sac brush against his ass. He quivered in disgust at the man’s rapturous moans while refusing to scream in agony. “Angh! Fuckin nice.”

“Don’t just sit there, Devon! Ya got others waitin while you bust your nut early.” The one called Taylor barked, shoving ‘Devon’ harshly to rush him. The corresponding jerk within him made Altair twinge.

Hector rolled his eyes. “You’ll all get ya turn… and we’ve got all night.”

“Bloody right we do.” Devon smirked beneath his helm. Altair could feel the gesture despite the iron cover, nausea pumping against his stomach. The nausea lessened as Devon pulled his cock out, only to intensify after the man spit on his prick again and shoved back in. Groaning blissfully Devon grasped Altair’s thighs, lifting his rump to angle to his wish.

Devon’s thrusts deepened and quickened, leather covered hands breaking Altair’s skin with his power. The pain was horrific and the nausea was about to come to a head. Gagging and thrashing his head, Altair tried with his might to hold down the lewd desire to upchuck as well as scream. Such displays, he knew, the men would only enjoy.

The silent one thus far noticed the sour complexion over Altair’s cheeks. “Hector…” he warned, nodding over to their prey.

Having been paying attention to the arousing assault before him, Hector readjusted his gaze to Altair’s face. Scowling at the man’s repulsed demeanor, he jerked the man’s head with his foot. “You vomit on my shoes, boy, and I’ll be the next and last one you take.” He warned.

The threat was… tempting. At this point, Altair wished to die. Devon’s thrusts were only growing more powerful and more desperate. He could feel the Templar’s girth swell and ooze inside him. Worse than the revulsion of having a man inside him… was the secret enjoyment starting to develop that tickled at his balls. Devon was hitting a spot inside him that was making Altair as ill as it aroused him. Never had he known of this spot or of such sensation before in his life… and Altair wasn’t sure if wanted more of it.

He’d rather die that enjoy the rape of a Templar… but the tiny shred of pride left in his psyche wouldn’t allow for death. So he glared at the leader, which earned him another punishing blow to the face.

“Oh? Wish to die, do you little needle-wielder? Too bad—you’ll have to do that yourself after we done wit ya. Devon, finish up, before Taylor let’s himself go on our prize like a humping dog.” Hector cackled.

“A-aah! Christ, I’m close… nmmm take it all, little sand slut!”

The novice assassin’s eyes shot open, body shutting down temporarily as all registration went to the sensation of a man’s seed, his very soul, ravaging his insides. The searing heat lapped and clung to his inner walls, irritating lacerations bleeding within. Devon pulled out, amusement thick in his cruel laughter in seeing the pinkish mixture seep out from the assassin. “Looks like I might a been a bit rough.” The nausea returned, Altair sickened by the sensation… and his slight enjoyment of it.

“Hgn… still hard… gotta have another go at that.”

“No! You had your go. Get up off of it—my turn.” Taylor shoved Devon out of the way, stroking his cock furiously.

Altair’s body reawakened, shocked by the replacement of one intrusion with another. He groaned, head tilted back in a mixture of dismay…and surprised pleasure. With his ass coated in cum and blood, Taylor’s cock slipped in without opposition.

“God—all but swallowed me this time.”

“Hehe, little sand demon’s enjoying it now. Nmh… look on his face’s priceless.” Hector snorted. Pulling Altair’s wrists above his head, the head Templar forced the novice into an upright position, Altair’s head lulling forward to avoid eye contact. The silent Templar reached forward, jerking the man’s hood from his head.

“He’s gone from green to pink.”

“Ai, that he has Irvine. You must have the cock he likes, Taylor.” Devon teased, stroking himself shamelessly as he gained utter satisfaction from Altair’s flushed, embaressed expression.

“O-oh course I do. That’s right… watch me thrash in you, boy.” Holding Altair’s legs around his waist, the man crashed into his ass, shaking the man’s body with every snap of his hips. Altair could feel him—longer than the one named Devon, he rubbed and jabbed that curseful spot inside him. The nausea turned to unwanted enjoyment, blood tingling and heating through his veins with each stimulating thrust against that spot.

Altair clamped down on his bleeding lip once more, forcing down his throaty groans. He couldn’t, he just could not allow—he gasped, having cracked open his eyes, only to behold what he feared. Altair’s body was betraying him, his exposed cock flailing at full stand to the rousing of rape. The group mocked Altair’s shame, Hector jerking the assassin onto his back again.

“A-aahh yes—fucking close.” Taylor growled, hips moving with increased desperation. Altair shivered, feeling Taylor’s nasty sex literally molesting his hidden spot now.

“Damn it, I am too.” Devon heaved, aiming his bulbous tip directly at Altair’s reddened face. Their aggressive sounds grew in volume, deafening Altair’s ears from blocking them out. He could not stop himself from hearing their pleasures, which only coaxed his own to finally vocalize in a raunchy cry. Unable to hold his head about water, he started to drown in his own blossoming pleasures, moan after groan, after pant flying from Altair’s chest.

Irvine smirked within his helm, fondling himself through his robes. “What gorgeous vocals. Too bad we have to let him go, Hector.”

At this point, Altair could no longer hear Irvine’s taunts nor could he hear Devon’s and Taylor’s curses and moans. All that registered was the sound of his defeat—his own shameful, lusty cries. He mumbled in Arabic, swearing up and down that his body was going to break, that his mind was going crazy!

The young man’s mind truly broke with the coming of the second man’s climax, his seed spreading deeper within him. The milky substance thickened the layer of cum already inside. He was thoroughly claimed now—yet it brought Altair to his own guilty release, the heated liquid soaking his spot.

“Ugh!” Devon hissed and shot his own load, splattering upon Altair’s face. A fair amount slathered within the novice assassin’s opened mouth, Altair stunned by the taste. His eyes almost watered, a stew of negativity stirring in his psyche. A man’s cum… all over him—putrefying him.

Hector’s eyes caught the lighting of the candles, reflecting from underneath his helm like the eyes of an enthralled demon. “… **again**.”

Once more, twice more, Altair had stopped counting at five. Even the silent one took his turn, ravishing him while he was forced to hang by his wrists from a beam of the barn. They spat at him, bent him in impossible positions, and stretched his inner walls until no feeling could be gained. After his men were sated, Hector walked over to the laying heap, checking Altair’s eyes.

“Yes, that’s the look, gents.” Hector grinned in triumph at the novice assassin’s detested look in his eyes. He pulled up on Altair’s wrist leash, slinging the rope over his shoulder. He heaved the broken young man upon his back like a sack of potatoes, only to throw him into some tall grasses growing a few yards away from the barn.

“Have a nice life.” Was the last words Altair heard from his assailants. For a moment, he laid there, broken with his budding assassin pride torn from him. However, the longer he lay there, the more he dared to reflect on the events past. The Templar… they were not humans. They were demons in men’s skin and armor, sent to disrupt and corrupt all they touched.

They all had to be killed. By his hands. As many as possible. And he’d live to do it.

An hour after being thrown out like trash, Altair forced himself upon his swollen, abused, and mangled legs. Naked save for his red sash that was hardly over his hips, Altair tied it around his waist and between his legs before making the long… long disgraceful trip back to Masyaf. His eyes burned with a renewed willingness to destroy everything that bore the Templar seal. He’d become stronger—no, indestructible, and put an end to their hellish ways.

A pigeon flew unnoticed overhead, heading in the same direction as Altair.

\--

“Master, a letter came for you. It’s unmarked, should I destroy it?”

“No no, that’s alright, Malik. Give it here.”

Observing the letter, the elder man gave a sly grin and told Malik to be on his way after thanking him. Walking to the secrecy of the deepest parts of his library, Al Mualim unfolded the parchment. It simply stated:

_He’ll not question your motives again, Master. He should return tomorrow as you wished. If you ever need any other of your sheep to be re-conditioned, my men await your instructions._  --Hector.

**Author's Note:**

> The first publication I've had on this website and not the last. I plan to transition the lot of my old fanfiction over to this lovely website <3


End file.
